


i must learn to be content

by merthyr



Category: Ebon Light (Visual Novel)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Holding Hands, Play Fighting, Portraits, Smut, This ran away from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22330735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merthyr/pseuds/merthyr
Summary: “It isn’t as exciting as you think.” He says plainly, before leading her to a locked door in an ill used section of Lonre’s mansion. Alenca, who had been waiting for this moment since she’d teased the information from him on The Bastion, found more inside his art room (his studio, he calls it with unconvincing confidence) than she had ever imagined.Ernol paints a portrait of Alenca after they're married.Originally a one-shot, which has morphed into a collection of romantic short stories.
Relationships: Alenca Goffil | Main Character/Ernol Milirose, Alenca Goffil | Main Character/Vadeyn Milirose
Comments: 15
Kudos: 108





	1. Ernol

Ernol does not reveal his art to her immediately. Only after they settle the date for their marriage does he finally bring out the key. 

“It isn’t as exciting as you think.” He says plainly, before leading her to a locked door in an ill used section of Lonre’s mansion. Alenca, who had been waiting for this moment since she’d teased the information from him on The Bastion, found more inside his art room (his _studio_ , he calls it with unconvincing confidence) than she had ever imagined. 

In Edric, the only art work she’d seen had been very practical or very old-- she'd admired what few precious pots were left from Kalec, and the people did what they could, with things like wreaths, whittled statues, and lovingly made tools. But what did she really know of painting, of Art? 

Ernol has an entire _room_ dedicated to art, and he has special tools which are used specially to make art, to store art, to display art. She finds the luxury of it all incredible. 

“What is this?” She asks, her fingertips whispering over a delicate wooden structure.

“You don’t--?” He stops, wisely decides to think about it, and then chooses to be patient, “...It’s an easel.”

“Ah. Is it to hold everything while you work…?” 

She looks up, head tilted, and watches Ernol’s carefully crafted disinterest crack with the smallest of smiles. “Yes.” 

He comes to stand behind her as she flits to the little table beside the easel, so close that if she only leans back she might press against his chest. “And these are your brushes?” There are quite a few of them, some quite fluffy, “May I touch them?”

He huffs a laugh. “If you’re careful.”

She plucks out the most tempting of the bunch and looks at it skeptically in hopes that it will make him laugh again-- she's pleased when it does. His smile is nearing gentle when he takes the brush in one hand and her wrist in the other. He delicately traces the bristles across her skin, right above her pulse point, and the sensation gives her an unexpected shiver.

“It’s so soft! Like a rabbit. What are they made from?”

“Many different animals.” His smile twists sardonically, “Sometimes rabbits. But I think this was once a marten. Here, this one is boar.”

They spend some time like that, testing brushes, touching tools. Alenca asks questions, Ernol answers them, again and again, until she runs out of technical things to talk about, and he no longer looks like he’s dreading to face his executioner. She watches from the corner of her eye as his shoulders soften, and only when he looks well and truly at ease does she wander to the other side of the room.

“And these are your paintings?” She says excitedly, “There are so many! Do you keep them all here?”

He stiffens like a board. “No. Not all of them. But many, yes. Some are very old, and others I don’t feel are… finished.”

 _These are not my best_ , she translates, _If you say anything bad I will curl up and die_.

Ernol hovers nervously as she rifles through the past few years of his work. To be true, Alenca is not some great surveyor of beauty, but she knows what she likes, and she finds herself admiring the cool grace of his paintings. Her eyes trace the shapes he placed, the colors he picked: black, gray, indigo, red, more black-- the colors of Gha’alia. The images he finds worthy of consecrating forever make her smile. A sword thrust into the earth, the spires of the city cast in gray, a lake in the rain. All things both lovely and fleeting.

“Ah! Are these Moon Drunks?” She asks with delight. 

“Yes.”

“Oh. Perhaps… from _The Bastion_?” She can’t keep the smile out of her voice, though she valiantly resists the urge to look at him. 

The seconds it takes for him to answer are gratifying. “...Yes.”

She can’t keep herself from turning to tease him then. She expects to find him irritated, or embarrassed, or perhaps some unholy union between the two. She’s wrong, as she so often is with him. Ernol is looking at her _so_ softly. Suddenly, she is the one who is embarrassed.

Flushed, she looks down and quietly admits, “They are truly beautiful. I think I could look at your paintings all day.”

He presses a hand to the small of her back and draws her into his embrace. “Once I might have thought you were lying, but I feel the same about you.”

“Hush.” She demures, not sure if she can handle another earnest declaration, but she allows his cool fingers to carefully lift her face to his. Their lips meet once, twice, before they truly sink into one another, studios and paintings all but forgotten.

\--

When the Moon Drunk painting is finally complete Ernol declares it hers to do as she likes.

“It was always yours, really.”

It is hanging in his bedroom above the very long chair (Haron says it's called a chaise, but Alenca thinks Gha’alians have too much furniture) where she can look at it whenever she likes, but she doesn't think it will stay there. Ernol says it won’t be long until a house of their own is secured within the city, and Alenca thinks she will soon be able to place it somewhere special.

His easel isn't bare for long. Eventually he makes a new canvas, and lets her sit beside him as he works. He answers all of her many questions about what he is doing, and in turn she tells him of her experiences with art in Edric (he is mostly interested in her knowledge of which plants make which dyes, the clothes horse). She leans against him as he paints a protective layer over the stretched linen, and gamely listens to him complain vehemently about the follies of painting on wooden panels on the ever-wet island of Gha’alia.

Ernol never says what he plans to paint next, and she never asks. She’d rather imagine, always one to enjoy the mystery, and perhaps, in a moment of indulgence, she flatters herself into wondering if he might want to paint her, though he has only just given her a gift.

Perhaps she should have asked, because for the next few weeks she walks into his art room only to find a blank canvas. There is still much to explore in his little art room, so she spends time admiring what he’s already made, and speculates on whether or not he’s given any to Duliae (does the style seem familiar, or is she grasping?). She also finds more folders filled with fast sketches depicting things more mundane than his paintings, as well as a few stacks of portraits, mostly of his family.

Never any of her, however. Alenca is beginning to feel a little offended that she hasn’t found anything of herself (they are soon to be married, are they not?) but she’s yet to realize that her pictures won’t be found among the rest-- Ernol keeps hers somewhere far more secret and difficult to find.

\--

Her portraits are, of course, neatly tucked into the back of his nightstand drawer.

Alenca doesn’t find them intentionally. At least, she isn’t looking for them specifically, she is simply… examining her new room very thoroughly. It's only been a few days since her wedding ceremony, and the back of her brain still wants to refer to it as Ernol’s room, which would make her snooping very suspect indeed, but it’s their room now, and Ernol, bless his trust, didn’t had the foresight to hide them.

The first time she looks upon her portrait she doesn’t even understand that the girl on the paper is supposed to be _her_ , but quickly finds herself charmed. Ernol keeps a secret picture of her by his bedside! How sweet, how funny! But then she pulls out another from the drawer, and another, and Alenca realizes that Ernol has many pictures of her.

Carefully, she lays them all out on the bed, and counts twelve. When did he do these? There is her profile; her small smile; her eyes downcast with a laugh on her lips; the beaded bend of her waist in a ballgown she’d worn the month before. Most are small sketches which didn’t even take up the entirety of the paper, except for one: in it she is sleeping with her head rested upon her folded hands, her lips parted, with a delicate wisp of hair lingering on the sweep of her cheek. How can this be her? She looks so pretty, content… precious even.

Does she really look like that in his eyes? Alenca dreamily touches a finger to that same cheek and finds it warm.

It’s all far too lovely to leave be, and she soon realizes that she is likely to combust if she doesn’t do something about it. Was she only still enough to sketch when she slept? Is that the problem?

Well, that can be remedied easily enough.

\--

Alenca isn’t sure what to expect at first. When Ernol walks in to find her, his drawings of her, and a small smile on her face that he once dubbed ‘dangerous’, he at first appears mortified. When she teasingly asks if she might sit for his next piece, he says yes.

...He says yes?

\--

The next time she enters his art room, the very long chair has been placed beside the window. Laid out on top of it is one of her nicer dresses, made of silk in a dreamy color that sets off her eyes (a favorite of his, she strongly suspects).

After she’s changed, he is straight to business, settling her down with little fanfare, moving her limbs and chin around to his finicky liking. Only when he's satisfied does he get to actually placing paint onto the canvas. 

By this point in their relationship she should be used to being the sole focus of Ernol’s very intense attention, but there is something different about this whole portrait sitting thing. There’s nothing to do but sit very still and be stared at. 

Alenca tries to occupy her mind with important things first-- she deliberates her recent investments, ruminates about her recent marriage ceremony, contemplates the Cuthintal… only to end up staring at Ernol with stars in her eyes (did she mention she was recently married?).

The way his gaze flutters to different parts of her, so focused and specific, makes her more conscious of her body than usual. Most people are only concerned with her Cuthintal, but she can't help but wonder what Ernol thinks of her looks. He often tells her she has lovely eyes, and in quiet moments he likes to trace the pout of her lips with his thumb. And has he ever noticed the little scar on her chin? Will he paint it, too?

She wants to see.

“Can I see it?”

He doesn’t answer her at once, simply pins her with the most disbelieving look before he asks, “What do you think there is to see? It hasn’t even been an hour.”

Alenca wrinkles her nose, “Did you need so long to do the others? I can’t imagine Haron sat still for long.”

He snorts, and though he is hidden behind his canvas he can’t hide his smile from her, “You'd be surprised. Be patient, Alenca.”

She sighs, “If you say so.”

“I do say so.” He says wryly, his hand already once again on the move. “Perhaps I should have given you a book.”

“What? I could have been reading this entire time?”

His eyes shift awkwardly to the bookcase.

\--

If pressed, it would be hard for Alenca to say what she read, because she did very little actual reading. At one point she even falls asleep. It’s colder when she wakes-- her book is bathed in a shaft of orange light, and a dark shadow looms above her. A cool hand presses into her cheek and she leans into the touch.

“Alenca.”

“Ernol.” She sighs, turning her head into the grasp of his palm, a bashful look on her face, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He says quietly.

“Is it done?”

“No. I’ll need more time before it looks... right. You shouldn’t have to sit for me again. The rest I can finish on my own.”

“I don’t mind sitting for you-- I like being with you. I can come in whenever you want, you only need to ask.”

“Then maybe I will.” His face flickers with a smile, his black eyes focused wholly on her. Light as air, his thumb traces down the smooth skin of her cheek, before he stops at the softness of her lips. She is suddenly very warm. 

“You are so beautiful. I’ve done little else but stare at you all evening, and you are still so...”

He leans close, so that their noses touch and their hot breath mingles. She knows he is about to be very sweet, but whatever plans he has in mind are tossed aside when Alenca’s bottled impatience bursts -- she rises to her elbows and surprises him with a rather forward kiss. Her hand fists into his jacket, and she feels his breath catch in his chest. Ernol, always willing to adapt to her wiles, lets himself fall into her. His fingers wind themselves into her long hair, and his cool hand skims down the length of her body, his fingers digging into her waist with fervent intent.

“Alenca.” He murmurs her name, voice tight and a little lost. She steals a breath before his lips find their way back to hers, kissing her for all that he is worth, like all there is in the world is her and him and the heat they make together.

She tries to pull him closer to her, bending her body so that there can be no space between them. His lips burn down her neck, lingering in places she’d never dreamed could be so sensitive in Edric, drawing out her little gasps and sighs until she feels like her heart is likely to pound out of her chest.

She gets lost in the rhythm of it all, canting her hips into his with that instinctive desire to be closer-- he groans against the column of her throat, his hands clutching desperately to the warm curves of her body.

He could kiss her forever if she let him, and in times past she has, but now she needs more, more, more. Her thumb traces the shape of his ear, skimming all the way to it’s sensitive tip. He moans and his hand grasps her ass, pulling her core close to his, and all of her thoughts clip short.

“Please, Ernol. I need-- I want--”

“Anything.” He says into her skin, and she believes him. He leans up and over her, black eyes burning, “Anything you want.”

Alenca isn’t sure what she wants, other that more of him. But she is his wife now, surely she can say it aloud. “I want… more. You make me feel so..” She sighs. His hands move to cradle her head, his thumb pressing against the cut of her jaw. “Make me feel good. Please.”

Ernol looks both ecstatic and overwrought, and she is not given enough time to wonder why that makes her want him more before he leans close to press his lips to hers. His hands skims up her hip, slow and lingering so her muscles seize with anticipation. When his thumbs tenderly brush against the base of her breasts she gasps into his mouth.

Things progress at a rapid pace after that-- her elf has many fine qualities, but patience is not chief among them. Ernol pulls at the sleeves of her lovely silk dress, considerate but clearly on a mission, slipping it down until her breasts are revealed to the open air. 

He stares down at her, half-bare and well-kissed, his lips parted as if just the sight of her has left him raw. He mutters to himself, so quiet she can’t hear, but she is sure it is something embarrassing. She gives him a saccharine smile, all false innocence, and though he rolls his eyes, her smile is contagious. His thumb teases over nipple, chilled from the open air, before he bows his head and presses wet kisses onto her bare skin.

“So soft.” He murmurs. He opens his mouth to take the tip in between his lips and sucks. Her moan echoes in the empty room, and Ernol utters a curse that was never covered in her lessons in Gha’alian. 

He's quick to regain focus, never one to stop when he's found something that works. She covers her mouth with her palm, for what little it is worth, and her other hand clutches his broad shoulder. She is not so distracted by him that she doesn’t notice the cool air traveling up her calf, nor the soft silk sliding up her legs as Ernol gathers up her skirts and tugs them insistently past her hips. 

His hand reaches in between her legs and he groans against her mouth when he finds her bare (despite the fact that he is the one who hadn’t laid out any underthings for her, he should know better). When his thumb brushes past her clit she can’t keep quiet her gasp of pleasure. His eyes snap to her face, watching keenly as she bites her lip and blushes pink. 

His fingers are more insistent now, rubbing her until she is truly flushed and mewling. His lips brush her cheek when his hand slips lower, and she is embarrassed by the wet sound she hears as one of finger dips inside of her.

“ _Bewan_.”

Ernol slides down her body, pulls the needy grip of her thighs apart, before taking her calves and slipping them over his shoulders. He peppers her with little kisses, pausing only to suck a red mark onto her most tender skin, making her gasp in surprise. 

He touches his tongue, feather soft, to her clit, and this is all very new-- new to _her_. She is already so sensitive, her hips snap up of their own accord and her hands fist themselves into his hair. Alenca has an apology ready on her lips, but he only looks smug and winds an arm under her thigh and over her hip to hold her still. 

She stares, mouth parted with shock and lust as his tongue licks its way up her heat. She is so wet, she can feel it on her thighs, worries it might be dripping onto furniture. She reddens (should she be embarrassed?) but when his eyes flick up to hers, black and hungry, she decides she doesn’t care. 

It feels so good, and he is so lovely. Tenderly, she brushes back the hair from his brow. It is all so much, almost too much, so she searches for the hand that holds down her hip, takes it in her own, and holds tight. When he squeezes back her smile is blissful. 

She is not sure how long it lasts, she is only sure that it feels wonderful. When his lips wrap around her clit and sucks, she thinks this might be her new favorite game. When his fingers slip themselves into her cunt and press against her walls, tight and sensitive, she vows to repeat this as often as possible, because--

“Ernol, I--!”

She never finishes that sentence. The white heat that was building at her core cracks and her whole body is awash with light and warmth. She finds she no longer cares about her noises, or how slick she must be. Ernol’s grip on her hip is strong enough to keep her still, but his tongue still has not stopped, and she feels like she's flying.

Alenca opens her eyes in a daze. Ernol hovers above her, looking rather proud of himself as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Woefully, she says, “My love, you are overdressed.”

He snorts and she laughs. He seems to agree, sitting up on his haunches on the very long chair and immediately stripping off his clothes with military precision. She gets up to help, but quickly finds herself distracted by his naked chest. She kisses the lean muscles of his stomach as she unbuckles the belt that holds his scabbard, gazing up at him with an excited glint in her eyes. She sets it carefully on the ground and reaches for the laces of his pants.

Ernol’s palm covers her hands, “Don’t worry about me. I want to see you.”

“I think you can see most of me.” She says. Her bodice slumps beneath her bare breasts, and her skirts are wrapped around her waist like a belt.

The grin he gives her looks almost as dazed as hers. 

Graciously, he helps free her from her dress. Naked at last, she goes back with enthusiasm to unlacing Ernol, but he catches her roving hands by the wrists-- she makes a half-hearted escape, just to see how much he means it, and the pitying look she sends him as he starts to unlace himself only serves to amuse him. 

In truth, it amuses her, too, but she is always game for something new.

“And why do you get to undress both of us? Hm?”

He shrugs a shoulder, “Work faster next time.”

Any witty remark she has flies away when he firmly situates her hands above her head and pulls his cock out of the confines of his pants. Her eyes light up. Perhaps she is greedy, but she is eager for more.

“Kiss me?” She asks sweetly, although it is really a demand. 

He leans down, and she arches up to meet him halfway. His face smells like her, and she nudges his nose with her own, deepening their kiss and licking into his mouth, curiously enticed. 

She gasps when she feels the head of his cock, fisted in his hand, pressing hot against her entrance. She is so wet she knows he’ll slide ride in, and she can’t help but moan in anticipation. However, he seems satisfied with teasing her, rubbing up and down, taking his time and refusing to just put it in-- she's not sure if it's for her sake, or his. She tries to pull down her hands, but his grip doesn’t give, and all she is left with are dirty tricks.

“Please, Ernol.” Her eyes are very wide. “I want you. _Please_.”

The look in his eyes tell her that was exactly he wanted to hear from her. Definitely. 

He presses himself in and groans low in his throat. “Alenca.” He says, and she feels so, so good. He pulls out shallowly and pushes deeper. “ _Alenca_.”

She wants more, because in truth she really is rather greedy. She lifts her legs and wraps them around his waist, nudging him closer with the heel of her foot; turning her face into his pale skin to lick and bite at his collar bones; stretching to place an open mouthed kiss into the hollow of his throat, which flutters when he moans. 

Ernol can take a hint-- he thrusts his hips with force, the angle burying him so deep that they both cry out. 

Alenca has been worrying that she is loud. She needn’t have, because Ernol doesn’t seem to care at all. Some of the things he says are in Common-- how beautiful she is, how tight she is, how good she feels. Most of it is not. Gha’alian is a hard language even at its most jubilant, but to hear it gasped into her hair and against her mouth, broken and ardent, as Ernol holds her body under his and makes love to her… There are no words, not in any tongue.

She finds herself close once more, standing on the precipice. Ernol picks up on her little hints-- her sharp gasps, the clenching heat of her cunt. He places a tender kiss on her brow and gazes down at her from above. Her mouth is open, panting, sweat sticking her hair to her temples. He is no more composed than she. 

“Come for me again. I want--” His thumb presses against her clit one final time, and--

Stars. Her hand rips free from his grip and fists itself into his hair, white-knuckled and tight. Distantly, she hears him groan his own release, before his head falls heavy into the crook of her shoulder.

The sun has set, and the room is wreathed in shadows. They stay like that for awhile.

\--

Later, when they are clean and mostly clothed, she places her head against his chest and gazes at her unfinished portrait. It isn’t much yet, mostly just colors and suggestions. Her face is the only thing that could be considered finished-- her own eyes stare back at her, soft and keen.

Ernol moves the book off the chaise before he can lay back and settle them down on the too long chair. His fingers begin to run through her hair, so soothing and gentle. Alenca hums in satisfaction, truly content.

“Did you like it?” He asks in the dark.

“ _Yes_.”

He laughs, not sounding nearly as tired as she. “Good. But I meant the book.”

“The… book?”

“Yes, the--” She doesn't see him roll his eyes, but she strongly suspects. He leans to the side, plucks the book off the floor and starts flipping through it with his arms wound round her (she doesn't know why, she can't even see it). “I thought you might enjoy it. It’s about art in Kalec. Mostly music. I know your ancestors had to flee with what they could carry, but you can bring a song anywhere. But if you don't recognize anything...”

“That’s-- Oh.” She blushes. If he were a human, he wouldn’t see, but he isn’t, so he does. She is sure he is looking at her like she’s mad, and maybe she is. “I didn’t get to read very much.”

“No?” He sounds confused, “You didn’t sleep that long.”

“I was… distracted.”

The moments he takes to answer are _not_ gratifying. “Distracted by what?”

“Um. You were looking at me, and I suppose I was… looking at you, and, well. Suffice to say, I’m pleased by how things ended.”

He barks a laugh. She burrows her face into his neck, preparing herself to be teased as his fingers find their way back into her hair. Instead, he presses his lips to the crown of her head.

“I love you. More than anything.”

 _Oh_. Her heart can only take so much. She wiggles in his lap and looks up to face him. “More than anything?” She demures, flushed with love, before pressing her lips so sweetly to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha well i SURE DO LIKE ERNOL. this was supposed to be quick, sweet fluff, but now it is, uh, not. idk what to say man, his eyes are so pretty and according to him he's a quick study!!! 
> 
> i hope you enjoy! if you ever reach this cursed page, ahnna, please forgive me :,)
> 
> also does bewan mean fuck? bewan'na? ~~i'm too nervous to use it, sorry if his curse sounds weird.~~


	2. Ernol

The dagger is cold against her throat.

“Dead.” Ernol narrows his eyes. “ _Again_. Are you even trying anymore? Are you… tired?”

The dull blade slides away from her neck. Ernol tosses the training dagger aside so it clatters across the floor, and pulls himself up so he can loom over her properly. He looks grave, but it’s hard for Alenca to take him seriously when he’s sitting on her hips.

“No. But you’re actually rather heavy.” Alenca drawls. 

The weight on her lifts, just a little. “Your enemies will not be so accommodating.” She thinks that was a joke. Probably...

She sprawls on the floor, her arms curling behind her head. Her smile is too innocent when she asks, “Are you sure? I’ve been told I’m very convincing. If you can recall the last mercenary who came baying for my blood--”

She’s interrupted by his strangled growl. “ _Yes._ ” He snaps, “You don’t need to remind me. I remember him well.”

“I should hope so, he left quite an impression.”

He scoffs and turns his gaze away, thoughtfully annoyed. “We still need to replace that door...”

“We? You’re the one who threw him into it.” 

Ernol scowls at that. Predictable to a fault, he bares his teeth (not in anger, just annoyance) and leans in close to hiss in her ear, “Not every foe you meet will be so easily overcome by sweet words from a beautiful woman, _mysao'ora_.”

Alenca isn’t teasing him just to see him seethe, although it is always amusing. She plants her feet firmly on the ground. 

“And _yet--_ ” 

She slams her hips into his, lifting his rather heavy body off of the floor. His face is shocked, but is quickly overcome with a look of pure determination-- his thighs grip tight around hers and he doesn’t budge a single inch when she tries to buck him off like a rowdy horse. Still, she is clever enough to know that this can only be a diversion. When gravity brings them back down she wraps her arms around his shoulders and twists him beneath her.

Or she… tries to, at least. 

What really happens is that the two of them wind up rolling on the floor, trading sharp elbows and grabbing at flailing limbs in a chaotic free for all. Alenca’s breathless laughter echoes in the room as she twists and turns out of his grip, while Ernol has the concentrated look of a man attempting to wrestle a cat into a crate. 

For a moment he almost locks her down-- he wrenches one of her hands behind her back while his arm strangles her ribs. She tries to winnow away but he wrangles her close, until his chest is flush against her back. A bad move, for she isn’t above playing dirty (and she suspects he would be disappointed in her if she was). Immediately, she arches her back and pushes the curve of her ass against his hips. Ernol hisses between his teeth-- she can feel that he’s already hard.

“You’re so easy!” She crows.

“That doesn’t mean you’ve won--”

Alenca tosses her head back and smashes her skull into his mouth.

He hisses in shock and pain.

She takes the opportunity to scamper away, as she suspects it will be her last. She doesn’t get far before he lunges forward, snatching her ankle and swiftly dragging her beneath him. Alenca never thought that Ernol went easy on her, per say, but when she realizes just how fast he really is she sees that she’s made him lose his restraint. He wraps her up firmly, head down with both arms locked behind her back, and this time he makes sure to keep his face far from hers. 

He takes a moment to wipe away the blood that trickles from his lip. “I win.” He says triumphantly.

She is panting and tired, but is still snickering in between gasps. Ernol, of course, is not even out of breath, but she’s never made him bleed before. “Perhaps.” She relents. 

“ _Perhaps_?” He seems bewildered, “Just try and get out of my hold. You can’t. Pff— Perhaps...”

She wiggles around, because clearly that is what he desires, and his breath finally starts to stutter.

“Is your lip okay?” She asks. He doesn’t answer right away. “Ernol?”

“...What?”

“Your lip? It’s bleeding?”

“Oh.” His lips brush the nape of her neck. She shivers, all her little hairs standing at attention. “It’s fine.” 

She moves to turn onto her back. He lets her out of his hold, but doesn’t give her much time to adjust before his arms bracket her head and his mouth begins to trail wet kisses down her neck-- she hopes he isn’t smearing his blood all over her, but one never knows with these strange elves. His teeth nip at the junction of her collarbones and she lets out a startled gasp.

“Ernol!” She protests, “You _just_ said--”

He ignores her. His cool hand slips under her shirt and skims the bend of her waist, his fingers spreading wide over her ribs.

“You just said that my foes will not be so easily o-- oh!--'' His hips press insistently against her, his hand hitching under one of her thighs. Her face heats up and she can’t contain her flustered giggling, ”So easily-- easily overcome by-- _Ernol_!”

He smiles, tracing circles over her hip bone. “That doesn’t sound like something I would say.”

She bites her lip-- she _will_ stop laughing, “You know what I meant.”

“I do.”

“So that means I win!”

He looks away, considers, and decides, “No. I don’t think it does.”

“You— ugh.” 

Alenca pushes insistently at his shoulder. Ernol, offended, let’s her pry him off of her. He starts to lean onto an elbow, but no, that isn’t what she wants, and she forces him down until both of his shoulders are flat on the floor. The entire time he is looking at her very suspiciously. 

When she swings her leg over and sits astride him he begins to see the bigger picture.

“Ah.” He grins, his hands landing on her hips. “So that’s how it is.”

She leans in to meet his lips with a gentle kiss-- his mouth tastes like iron. He is so sweet, she can’t help but place another on his cheek, his chin, the hollow of his throat. He doesn’t need encouragement to get back to petting her, smoothing up her thighs, palming her soft flesh. 

When Ernol’s hands start wandering up her shirt, rucking it up along the way, she smacks them away, and the glare he gives her is moody. She sits up, rocking against him as she moves, and gives him her most lovely smile as she slowly, slowly inches her shirt off. He sits up on his elbows and watches with rapt interest as more skin is revealed, still as affected as the first time he saw her flesh bared. She hasn’t pulled the shirt all the way over her head before he shoves up her chemise and starts palming the weight of her breasts.

“You have to wait!” She cries, her head still encased in fabric.

She hears him huff a laugh, and feels it too, right before his mouth wraps around her nipple and licks. Her resounding shriek is muffled but impressive. Alenca undresses much faster after that, shucking things off and tossing them aside, even making quick work of her pants despite the awkward position. 

Free at last, she eagerly runs a hand up his neck and anchors it into his hair, pulling him in close to her warm lips, savoring the slick pleasure he’s resolved to give her-- his hair is so soft, his tongue is so hot. He looks up at her with black, heavy eyes, and sucks a dark mark onto the side of her breast. She lets loose a ragged sigh at the sight. 

Oh. Oh, she has a goal here, doesn’t she?

“Take it off.” She demands, no longer in the mood to mince words. Her fingers scramble to undo all the complicated pieces of his shirt, and once they’re undone he reaches back and pulls it off smoothly by the collar, revealing pale skin and hard muscles. She gives herself a second to admire-- as if she wasn’t excited _before_.

She tries to push him back down-- conceited, he only leans back as far as he wants to, but she admits her expectations of his full compliance are low, so she rolls her eyes and moves on. After a quick kiss to the tender skin beneath his jaw, her lips land where they last left off, licking down the column of his throat, leaving little red marks in the wake of her teeth because two can play at that game. She reaches down his waist, his abs tensing under her touch, and slips her hand over the tightness in his pants.

His breathing is heavy now. She looks up at him (to smile, or to tease, she isn’t sure yet) and he distracts her by gripping her jaw and pulling her into a deep kiss-- it’s the kind of kiss that lets her know that she’s found some semblance of control, wet and heavy, tongues tied and teeth grazing. She cups him through the fabric, smothering his groans as she rubs her core against his thigh. 

They break apart-- she slides her nose against his as she frees him from the confines of his pants, taking him firmly in hand before stroking down. 

“Ah…” Ernol leans his head back, eyes closed, a concentrated wrinkle in between his brows.

She rather likes that picture. She strokes him again, stronger this time, her thumb sliding up over the head of his cock, hoping he’ll make more noises for her. His hips start rising up to meet her-- the skin of it is soft as velvet, but the friction is almost too much, so she stops for a moment to lick a stripe up her palm. He watches her, and if his eyes weren’t dark before…

For a time she is content watching Ernol try and fail not to moan between his grit teeth, and wonders what it would take to make him lose his last shred of control. She thinks about the salty taste of her hand on her tongue and gets an idea. Alenca gives him one last sweet kiss to the lips before she’s traveling again, nosing down the length of his body until she’s looking up at him through her lashes with her mouth beside his cock.

She isn’t entirely certain on how one does this, only that she knows that people do. It seems bigger now, but then, anything would at eye level. It seems only natural to copy what gave her the idea in the first place-- she leans forward to lick a stripe from the base to the bitter tip, and Ernol loses it. 

His hand is in her hair faster than she thought possible, carding it back from her face in a desperate bid to see more of her. Her eyes are locked onto his when she takes him into her mouth-- she’s almost startled by the intensity of his gaze, his lips parted in awe.

His cock doesn’t taste like her hand-- it’s neutral until her tongue twirls around the tip-- he groans, mutters unintelligibly in Gha’alian, and she gets a mouthful of something acrid but not wholly unpleasant. She tries to fit as much of him as she can into her mouth, because somehow this has turned into an experiment for her, and covers what she can’t wrap her lips around with her fitted hand. 

His fingers scrape and pull at her scalp, and it feels good enough that she hums with delight-- Ernol’s hips jerk at that and she chokes, more of him slipping into her mouth than she was really ready for.

He pulls her off and cradles her face in his hand, “Stop.” His breath is ragged, “Not yet.”

She wonders what he would taste like. “You don’t want to…?” 

“Not... yet.”

 _But definitely sometime soon_ , she translates.

She leans her head into his palm (his fingers feel so good in her hair) before she nods and slowly crawls back up his body.

He already has his cock in his fist by the time they’re face to face, more than ready to slide it inside of her. She throws her arms around his shoulders and presses her breasts to his chest. She’s so wet it goes in slick and easy, pressing hot against her walls. There’s something different about this angle that makes her gasp-- something sharp, nearly painful, but mostly wonderful. Once she’s fully seated she takes a moment just to luxuriate on it, tilting her hips until it hits just right. “Oh...” She rises slowly, sinks down again, and it’s just as good. “ _Oh_.”

Alenca thinks she could rock against him all day, kissing and caressing. She thinks Ernol might let her. “You’re beautiful.” She hears him say, somewhere far away. “So beautiful.”

She moans. His face tucks into her hair, then, his breath scorching her neck. His fingers indent themselves under her ass, pull her up until all that remains is the tip, and then drops her.

After that, all pretense of sweetness and light are gone. He must be getting close, for he is suddenly feral beneath her, fucking into her while his grip on her waist is used as leverage to drag her down onto his cock. She cannot keep quiet-- pleasure snaps deep in her core, tendrils pulling on her heart and pushing her closer to the edge. He seems to understand how close she is, or perhaps he just doesn’t want to finish before her, so his thumb finds her clit, wet from her dripping core, and circles it with hell-bent intent.

She keens when she comes, falling apart completely in his arms. 

His hauls her up and pulls her into a tight embrace. She feels dazed as he holds her close and thrusts recklessly in his bid for release. He isn’t very long after her-- his grip on her skin is too tight when he comes, and she knows she’ll find bruises by morning.

After, when their breaths have slowed and their hearts have evened out, she sweeps his sweat slicked bangs away from his eyes and eagerly proclaims, “I win.”

Ernol snorts, too blissed to argue back.

“I told you, I can be very convincing.”

“More like conniving.” He mutters.

“Well, as you said, sweet words don’t always do the job…” She taps a finger on his bottom lip, “But you should know by now that I always have another trick up my sleeve.”

He is not too blissed to rise to the bait. She takes her finger away before he bites it. He narrows his eyes, shoulders tense, and asks tenaciously, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Alenca just laughs at him. 

“This is _not_ a negotiation tactic.”

“Are you sure? Dire circumstances require--” 

Ernol shuts her up with a furious kiss. “You are _mine_. There will be no ‘dire circumstances’” He looks askance, “Not if I can help it…”

“You can’t always be with me.” Alenca sighs. She doesn’t mean to needle him, but feels it needs to be said. 

He straightens his face out very seriously, “Why not?”

“I…” Why not, indeed? They had just had sex on the floor but for some reason this is what makes her blush. She bites back an embarrassed grin, “I… Well… Alright. You can certainly try.”

Ernol’s smile is beautiful. How lucky she feels, to have someone look at her with such love. She wants to kiss him again.

“...Obviously, you will still need to train.”

“ _Ugh_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i wrote some more. 'two recently married virgins learn to give head, the series'. 
> 
> i am embarrassed to share this, but not toooooooo embarrassed. ty for reading!


	3. Vadeyn

Manos is so cold she finds herself longing for rain. 

Leda tends the fire into the night. The crackling flame is a comfort-- prodding it until it’s perfect passes the time. She recalls days past, when she and Vanya made blue bonfires out of driftwood. She wonders idly if Vadeyn has ever seen such a sight.

The wind howls against the house and lifts the door off its hinges. She stares at it hopefully in the silence that follows, but no one enters.

She is warm, despite the storm. The home they’ve created together is small, perhaps, but sturdy. Leda has survived worse accommodations, and suffered in gleaming mansions; her home has no holes in it, and few creatures, so she has no complaints. In truth, she is pleased. Inside is a wide hearth, a bed tucked beside it, a cabinet full of food, and a table with three chairs (and a cloth, just in case of company). 

Only when there is nothing left to clean, to fix, or to fidget with does Leda turn back the blankets and settle into bed to sleep. 

When she wakes there is a chill in the air and the hearth is a bank of embers, but the body pressed against her hip is warm enough.

Leda turns her head up and opens her eyes. Only after seeing Vadeyn’s _safe_ , lovely smile does she return it with one of her own -- smaller, perhaps, but the spark in her eyes speaks volumes.

He sits on the edge of the bed, wedging off his last boot. “I didn’t mean to wake you—”

“I’m glad.” She snakes her arms around his waist, presses her cheek to his back, “You were gone too long.”

Vadeyn chuckles, a little embarrassed. One of his hands finds hers, damp and cold as ice.

“Vadeyn! You’ll catch your death.” She scolds.

She tries to warm his hand between her own, to no avail, so she shoves them up her sleep shirt and holds them against her stomach. Vadeyn makes a noise of protest, but she’s only being practical, and his fingers are quick to relax, his thumb tracing the edge of her ribs. 

She shuffles to her knees and examines his hair-- damp, like the rest of him. She purses her lips and throws the blankets off her legs.

“Leda, you don’t need to get up for me. I’m fine. My hands are warm now, see.”

But she is already standing, bare feet over packed earth. Almost haughty, she declares, “I can do better than fine.”

First, she breathes life back into her fire. He tries to tell her to go back to sleep, but she ignores him. He cannot really say they don’t need a fire, because they do, and she’s faster at it than he is. Next, she turns to Vadeyn. He watches her warily, so she corners him slowly, as if her quarry is a suspicious doe rather than an elf from an island of warriors. 

“I can undress myself.” He assures her preemptively. His hands are already at the ties, so she doesn’t press the matter.

“Have you eaten?” 

“Yes…”

“When?”

He avoids the question by throwing his leather jerkin over his head. Underneath is only a thin, linen undershirt. She slides her warm hands over his broad shoulders-- his spine snaps straight, but relaxes with a soft sigh when she kneads his stiff muscles with her sure fingers. She moves to massage the knot behind his neck and his eyes flutter shut.

“When did you last eat?”

He can’t help but laugh, “Last night. It’s still night, isn’t it? Don’t trouble yourself--”

“I will find you something. Stay warm. Here.” 

She tucks the blankets up around his shoulders so that he looks like a quilt mountain. Vadeyn watches her drift towards the cabinet, his eyes soft for he’d missed her so, before shaking his head with a grin and doing as he’s told. It feels nice to be worried over.

When she returns he’s redressed himself in something warm. Leda smiles, unable to resist pecking him on the cheek. She brings with her a hardy sandwich, made from thick sliced bread and bean spread, and a corked black bottle as well. 

“And what’s that?”

“A gift from Kai. It will warm you up, if you’re willing.”

“From Kai?” His smile is soft and teasing. “Should I be jealous?”

“Never.”

He laughs, “I’ll drink if you do.”

She does.

\--

The world is soft in the early morning light. Kai’s bottle sits empty on the floor.

“Right there. Ah, yes.”

Vadeyn’s head tilts forward as he lets out a pained sigh. Leda’s fingers are pressed deep into his back, making short work of all the aches and pains he gathered on his last trip across the sea. It seems that hanging like a squirrel from the rigging of a ship doesn’t leave a body unscathed.

His shoulders she saves for last, tense as they are. This is where he really needs it-- his groans are starting to sound more like moans. Leda rather likes it, and lingers awhile longer.

After, she smooths her hands down his muscles and stops to trace a delicate finger over a scar. He has a few, though most have gone silver with age. She kisses it before wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to the warm skin of his back. 

“I missed you.” She says simply. 

His warm hand lands on hers. “I missed you, too.”

Leda is content to sit like that for a little while, listening to her favorite person’s heart-beat with the blankets rucked up over her shoulders and the fire crackling in the background. But... it’s hard to ignore just how much she missed him.

Slowly, she rises to her knees, smooths her hand down the heat of his abs, and whispers into his ear, “...How much did you miss me?”

Vadeyn sucks in a deep breath. Her fingers wrap around his cock, already half hard, and all of his air escapes in a hiss. 

“... _Leda…_ ”

She hooks her chin over his shoulder, lets her lips graze the soft skin under his jaw. He begins to harden in her palm as she languorously strokes him up and down-- now that she finally has him, there’s no need to rush. 

“Mm?” She is too relaxed to really speak.

“I…” His head droops to the side, making it easier for her to gently score her teeth down the length of his neck. Vadeyn shudders and lets out a breathless laugh. “More than words can describe. I… I dreamed about you often.”

“Oh?” 

She passes her thumb over his tip, listens with smug satisfaction to his quiet gasp. He thrusts shallowly into her hand.

“Being alone has never felt so excruciating. But, I-- just knowing you were safe at home, waiting for me--”

“What did you dream about?”

Vadeyn makes a flustered noise. He feels hot in her arms-- perhaps it is the drink, or perhaps it is just him, but he needs very little prompting to open up. His voice is pitched low and hoarse, “I dreamed about… you. I missed you. Your smile. Your lips.” She kisses his jaw, slow and wet, and he chuckles, “I missed holding you in my arms. Your soft skin under my hands. Love of the heart, your _hands…_ ”

Vadeyn groans deep in his chest. His hands covers hers, big and callused. One he brings to his lips, just so he can press a reverent kiss to the thin skin on her knuckles. The other he wraps over hers and his cock, his long fingers squeezing just a hair harder than she already was, stroking just a little bit faster.

“Like this?”

He moans, catches his bottom lip between his teeth and nods.

Leda works with him like that, kissing anywhere she can reach, nosing his scars, biting the knobs of his spine and breathing in his dear, familiar scent. Vadeyn’s breath starts to come faster, his whole body tense and taut. She wonders how close he is. 

“Did you come like this, Vadeyn? When you were dreaming of me?”

“Ah…” His laugh is a little embarrassed. She wishes she could see him blush. “...Yes.”

“I dreamed of you, as well. I dreamed your hands were on me, but all I had were my own, and it wasn’t the same. The bed feels too big without you--”

“ _Leda_.” His voice breaks over her name.

Vadeyn stops their hands from running down his length and swiftly turns the tables. He’s quick to turn in her arms, his presence large and looming and very, very near. His mouth is on her in an instant, his hand already sliding firm and sweet into her hair. Their kiss is hot, wet and long, a month of desire pent up into a single point. Her heart feels full of him-- she knows Vadeyn always gives all of himself to her, in every moment, but to feel it?

His fingers splay out against the flushed skin of her back as he gradually sets her down upon the pillows, careful as if she were something precious to be presented. Their kiss never breaks, just becomes more-- she clings tight to him, because she never wants to let go. 

They caress each other with renewed urgency. It’s been too long since they felt one another’s touch, so they allow themselves enough time to get reacquainted. Leda digs her fingers into the strength of his shoulders, smooths down the plane of his back, grasps at the firm skin of his ass. Vadeyn is gentler as he smooths back her hair, glides over the curve of her hip, presses into the meat of her thighs.

When his hands happen upon her center he finds her ready for him-- she’s been ready since she awoke to him sitting beside her. “Vadeyn.” She urges, clutching him as close as she can, squeezing him tight between her thighs. 

He presses their foreheads together and enters her slowly, ardently, looking at her with longing she is sure she’s never earned. When he is fully sheathed inside he says, simple but strained, “My love.”

The burn of his entrance passes quickly, and soon all she feels is pleasure. Leda pulls him down for another desperate kiss. He holds her with such love, she feels compelled to make him understand how fervently she returns his feelings-- she wants to be closer to him, to be one with him. He begins to move within her, sparks dancing up her spine, and she wonders how she ever made do without him.

When their kiss breaks he tucks his face into the crook of her neck. She can tell he’s trying to make this last by his stuttering hips and his breathless sighs. Gone as he is, he knows he’s close, so his hand reaches down to her sex to circle her nerves. Her keens seem to serve his excitement-- her name echoes on his lips like a prayer.

Leda comes with a sigh, letting go of all her tension and savoring the sparkling bliss that washes over every nerve. “Vadeyn.” She sighs, and he follows right after, like he’s been waiting to take that leap together. 

They lay together for a long time. She doesn’t mind his weight, she rather likes how it grounds her. Leda hums with contentment and closes her eyes, soothing her hand over his hair and savoring his warm breath on her neck. No, she doesn’t mind this at all-- this is how they should always be: together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeeere's vad! i struggled a bit with his voice, but i do love him, so i did my best. i gave the mc a name different than alenca because she's VERY different than the mc in ernol's fics haha. 
> 
> vad and leda are in manos, bc i was imagining that they'd actually gotten away at the docks. hence they're struggling to juggle their lives and make ends meet. but luckily they are in LOVE.


End file.
